


If It's What It Takes

by chibimono



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Bullying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibimono/pseuds/chibimono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve protects animals from bullying, who takes care of Steve?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It's What It Takes

Bucky’s half way through his dinner of a can of beans when he heard a thump on the door. He checked the clock and sighed at the late hour. It had to be Steve, though his shift was over an hour ago. Maybe he forgot his keys? There was a sound against the door, like shifting or sliding, and Bucky dropped his spoon into the can. 

“Steve?” he called as he stepped up to the door, listening. When a low groan was the only response, Bucky unbolted the door and wrenched it open. Steve, sitting on the floor against the door, slumped into tiny apartment.

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky sighed, pulling at Steve’s jacket, his clothes, dragging Steve up against him to get him out of the hall. Steve’s head lulled against Bucky’s shoulder, his mouth bruised and blood spattered at his nose and brow. He tried to smile, but his lip split and it was just easier to grimace. 

“A’most f’rgot yer din’r,” Steve tried to say without moving his swollen jaw. He shifted a bag in his arms, weakly edging it to Bucky.

“Already ate,” Bucky said, laying Steve on the cold wood floor to shut and bolt the door. He turned to find Steve curling on his side, withering like a little leaf in his pain. “What the hell, Steve? Why didn’t you just go to the hosp-”

“No, Buck...” Steve groaned, breathing heavy through his mouth, teeth still clenched. “Still payin’ fer th’ las’ visit...”

Bucky frowned, kneeling at his friend’s side. “I can eat beans for a while longer. But you keep this up, all you’ll be able to handle is milktoast again.” He hauled Steve to a standing position, gritting his teeth against the sound of his pained whimpers. Bucky got Steve’s arm over his shoulder, feeling Steve’s bruised fingers bite into him, gripping tightly in counterpoint to the pressure of the other arm Bucky put around Steve’s side.

“So, what was it this time?” Bucky asked, shuffling to Steve’s single bed in the corner and laying him out. He was used to this; to untying Steve’s shoes and pulling them off, to working Steve’s belt or suspenders from his pants, to taking off his button-up shirt. How many times had Steve staggered home from a fight he didn’t need to be in because he heard someone scream or saw someone flinch in his line of sight. He’d taken the beatings meant for dames from abusive sweethearts. He’d taken the punishment aimed for crying children when their drunken parents wanted to make a point. He stood between hobos and the upper class that felt like scuffing their shoes on them. Those weren’t even Steve’s fights, but the rascal wouldn’t walk on by.

“Damn drunk...” Steve muttered, trying to sit up and help with his clothes. “Beatin’ on th’ ol’ stray dog wha hangs ‘round th’ parkin’lot... Poor pooch...”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed, hoping it hid the wince his heart made. He’d seen that dog--all mange and bones but friendly and proud. So much like Steve. “For chrissakes, Steve. Now you’re taking up for animals? I have yet to see one bigger than you. You gonna defend the whole stray populous of Brooklyn now?”

“If is’s wha’ it takes,” Steve tried nodding, but just flopped backwards.

“I swear, between your beatings and the headache you give me, there isn’t enough painkillers in this world to handle you,” Bucky said in fond exasperation as he tucked Steve in and went to fetch the aspirin and some water for Steve to wash it down.


End file.
